


Ain't nothing please me more than you

by weepingnaiad



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Family, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, badass men being saps, going home for christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5429747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's injury from a FUBAR op threatens their first Christmas together.  But Phil promised his mom they'd spend it with her and he's determined that they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't nothing please me more than you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [florahart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/gifts).



> **Beta:** I seriously could not have done this without abigail89. Her support is the only reason this tale is finished and her mad beta skillz made it so much better. I did fiddle after she finished so all mistakes are on me.

When the nurses at the station glared at Phil's pacing and not so politely suggested that he absent himself to the waiting room, he sagged into one of the uncomfortable chairs and pulled out his phone to dial his mother's number.

"Mom?" he began, voice hesitant as he spoke to her voicemail. "Looks like they're keeping Clint for another night. He's got a fever and they won't release him until they're sure they've got the infection under control." He paused to take a breath and swipe his eyes. "So, um, yeah… sorry about that. We… well, we'll head out as soon as the doctors give him the all clear." He only hoped that was _soon,_ wished it was yesterday. Shaking himself he continued. "Anyway, just wanted to keep you updated. I promise I'll do everything I can to get us there. Love you."

He hung up and dropped his head back against the wall, every muscle in his body aching.

~~*~~

"Phil?" Clint asked and Phil winced from the tentative tone.

"Sorry," Phil jumped in without waiting to hear the rest. "But I _swear_ you have nothing to be worried about. Mom will just be glad we could make it, even if we miss Christmas Eve. She just wants to see us, to finally meet you. So you can quit fretting. I _promise,_ " he added, for the third time, changing lanes and swearing as he was cut off -- yet again -- damn holiday drivers!

Clint huffed. Phil couldn't tell if it was part chuckle or sigh. "Wasn't gonna bug you about that again, boss. I just gotta _go._ "

"Oh." It took a beat. "Shit!" Phil swore, glancing in the rearview mirror where Clint was stretched out, left knee immobile from mid-thigh to ankle in a neon purple cast. His lover still looked pale and maybe a bit green, making Phil curse silently to himself. He really should have canceled their plans. Or maybe commandeered a helicopter. Between being delayed because of Clint's injury on a truly FUBAR mission, Phil had been too single minded; focus intent on the end goal: Clint meeting Phil's mother for the holidays.

"There's a diner at the next off ramp," Phil offered. "I'll pull off and we can take a break. Get you out of the back seat and some food into you."

"Not sure food's such a good idea. The pain pills are making me nauseous."

Phil's shoulders sagged and he gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. "I'm sorry, babe," he said. If only he'd canceled. They'd be safely ensconced in his apartment, SHIELD medical only a phone call away. His mother _might_ understand. The real problem was Clint. Canceling would have added fuel to his doubts, would have undone all of Phil's hard work over the last year. In the end, no matter the traffic, the shitty weather, or Clint's injury, they had to do this. Phil had to prove to Clint that he wasn't ashamed of him, never could be. That he loved him and wanted him in Phil's life. Permanently.

And that meant surviving the drive from New York to Boston on Christmas Eve. _Easy peasy._

Phil took the off ramp. "I think you need to sit up. You're supposed to eat before you take your pills anyway."

Clint frowned. "You know how I feel about painkillers."

"Yeah, but you're the one that dove off that billboard."

"Saved Nat's ass, boss. I wouldn't change a thing."

Phil threw the car into park and switched the car off. He inhaled and barely resisted banging his head against the steering wheel. "I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it," Phil said to himself, voice quiet.

"Phil?" Clint called, voice carrying that worried tone again.

With an exhale, he straightened, plastered a carefully calculated expression: part smile, part compassion, part worry. Whatever Clint would expect to see. "I'm fine. Just let the traffic get to me."

Clint snorted. "Bullshit. You terrify the taxi drivers in Mumbai, ain't no way these East-coast drivers could stress you out."

"Clint."

"Whatever," Clint said, holding his hands up. "Just open the damn door so I can get the hell out of here."

Phil scrambled out of the car and opened the backdoor, offering a hand to help Clint slide out. Which was promptly ignored in favor of Clint struggling to get out of the car himself.

"Dammit, quit being an ass," Phil huffed as he stepped forward and tugged Clint up to lean on him.

"You first, boss," Clint snapped.

Phil probably deserved that. "Sorry."

"No you're not. You're still pissed that I got hurt, that the op went sideways and that asshole got away. Quit trying to shit me. I _know_ you."

Phil pressed Clint against the side of the car so he could duck in and grab Clint's crutches. "I just want you to take better care of my lover. He's the only one I got and I want to keep him around." He held out the crutches and gave Clint a weak, apologetic smile, eyes trying for the puppy dog expression Clint was so good at.

Clint shook his head, but the hard glare softened until his frown almost quirked up into a smile. "You are such a fucking asshole."

"A right bastard, I believe is the more accurate term," Phil shot back with a smile as Clint began to hobble toward the door. Phil took a moment to breathe after closing the doors and locking the car, his eyes locked on Clint's arms. Clint was here and fine. Phil needed to let go of all the anxiety that had built during the failed op and Clint's subsequent surgeries. After all, he had more pressing problems to worry about: Clint and his mother joining forces. Because there was no doubt in Phil's mind that his mother would adore Clint. After all he made Phil happy and that was all she'd ever wanted for her son.

"You coming, boss?" Clint turned to ask.

"Yeah, babe. And there better be some vegetables on your plate. Fries do not count," he had to add as he strode forward.

~~*~~

The diner food was pretty good and Phil wilted under Clint's puppy dog eyes, giving in to his argument that ketchup was a vegetable. Anything to get enough food in him. And Phil wasn't above being bribed, especially with Clint's teasing smile and soft kisses. And even though he was feeling every single one of his forty-plus years, he couldn't bring himself to forego the slice of pumpkin pie slathered with real whipped cream. To make up for it, he had a chef salad and more coffee than was a good idea -- he'd be buzzing by the time they made his mom's -- but the coffee was perfect, something about diner coffee in chipped mugs he supposed. Or maybe it was the opportunity to linger over coffee and pie with Clint sprawled next to him warm and alive.

Either way, it was well after dark when they started off again putting them even further behind. But this time didn't feel as wrong, didn't stress Phil out as badly. He was even smiling when he helped Clint get comfortable in the back seat.

"You should nap. Those pills won't make you feel as bad if you catch some z's."

"And who would keep you company if I wander off to the land of nod?"

Phil raised one eyebrow, but chuckled despite himself. _'nod?'_ he thought, but he said, "You're insane."

Clint's eyes sparkled. "Guilty as charged," he said. "But you love me like this."

Phil leaned in to plant a firm kiss on Clint's lips, stealing a taste of his pecan pie. "That I do."

In no time, Clint was lightly snoring in the back seat and Phil was booking down the highway, the soulful strains of Etta James coming from the speakers.

The holiday traffic never thinned and between the truckers and the crazy long days with little sleep, Phil found himself zoning out. After the third time his eyes drifted closed, he sighed and pulled off the highway, throwing the car into park once he'd moved off the access road, prompting Clint to sit up.

"What's up?" he asked, eyes clear and keen as he peered over the backseat. Phil had no idea how he managed to go from a dead sleep, on painkillers no less, to alert in an instant. 

"Coffee burned off. Need a break."

"Told you so," Clint said, teasing, but there was a hint of worry. "You haven't had a good night's sleep since when?"

"I'm fine."

Clint snorted. "Yeah, right. Phil drive-through-hell-with-his-eyes-closed Coulson had to pull over. You're not fine."

Phil sighed. "We don't have that much farther," he began.

"Where are we anyway?"

"Just passed Sturbridge, almost to I-90, little over an hour to go."

"Sorry I can't take the wheel. Well, I guess I could, but the brakes might be hard, not to mention that pesky accelerator." Clint hummed thoughtfully. "I can talk to you. Would that help?"

Phil turned around in the seat to look at Clint directly instead of just a phantom in the mirror. His hair was sticking up in all directions, his smile sheepish and hopeful. He was impossibly gorgeous and Phil wanted to kiss him. He settled for unbuckling his seatbelt and kneeling up to lean over the seat back.

"What's that smile for?" Clint asked.

"You."

"Me?"

"Just thinking… this kind of reminds me of Akron."

Clint's eyes went wide and his mouth flew open as he vigorously shook his head. "Oh, hell no! Akron _sucked._ I thought I was done for." He pointed a finger at Phil. "How is this anything like then?"

"Well, you're sprawled in the backseat of a SHIELD rental sedan for one."

"Okay, but not the same. I thought I'd broken my back. Was bleeding out from being shot. Was _dying._ "

"And now?"

Clint's eyes were wide as he met Phil's, the usual kaleidoscope of greens, blues, and gold settling into a stunningly deep blue. "Not dying. Just scared shitless." His lips quirked up and Phil's responded in kind.

"You weren't dying then, either."

Clint snorted.

"Though you are as ridiculous as ever."

"Hey!"

"No, hear me out. I never told you about that op."

"What?"

"Well you fell out of my window--"

"I had been shot… and you jumped out after me," Clint interjected.

"Well _you_ screamed louder than a banshee. I thought you were a goner. Eaten by a Kraken or hellspawn or something."

"It wasn't the bullet, or the concrete, it was those bushes of _death,_ " Clint retorted.

"But there you were, bleeding all over the backseat of that Taurus and you asked for a damned cigarette--"

"And you lit it for me," Clint's eyes were smiling as his voice went soft. "Thought that was sexy as hell."

Phil shook his head. "I'm supposed to be telling this."

Clint smirked. "Yeah, sure," his hands flapped Phil's way, "go on."

"You were lying there, blood everywhere smoking a cigarette and bemoaning that it was your last and you should damn well get booze and a meal…" he had to stop; too much emotion spilling over from inside making him warm all over. "Well, it was that moment when I fell hard."

"You jumped."

"Not out the window," Phil rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. "I fell deeply in love with you. With everything about you. I'd never met anybody who made me feel like you." He ducked his head for a minute to compose himself before he looked back up. "Still haven't. I jumped after you and never regretted it since."

"Not even when I screw up and get injured?"

"That wasn't on you, babe. That was on Rollins and he's dealing with the fall out of his piss poor intel."

Clint settled back into the cushions, stretching and shifting a bit before he gave Phil that cheeky grin, part dare, part come hither pout. "Got a cigarette?" he asked.

Phil snorted. "Ass. You know I don't smoke anymore."

Clint looked at him one eyebrow cocked as if to say, "And?"

"Even if I did, no smoking in the company car."

"Damn."

Phil gave Clint the side eye. "Since when did you take up smoking again?"

"Since you reminded me how hot you were with a cigarette dangling from your lips."

"Huh," Phil said, a bit stunned by that revelation. He'd always thought Clint was sexy as hell, from the first time he'd laid eyes on the cheeky, rail-thin mercenary. But when he smoked, his lips wrapped around a cigarette, cheeks hollowing, Phil's libido went into overdrive. He huffed out a breath. "I always thought the same about you. Took a few cold showers just because of sharing a cigarette break with you." He then reached out to touch Clint, just a quick press against his wrist, not like Phil was surreptitiously checking his pulse and temperature. No way was Phil still _fretting._

"Should I take the habit up again?"

"Fuck, no!"

"Hmmmm," Clint mused, eyes wicked as he licked his lips. "Guess I'll have to suck on something else."

"Oh, god. You did not go there."

"Of course I did," Clint grinned. "Bet you're awake now."

Phil shook his head and reached to adjust his hardening cock in his slacks. "Crude, but effective, Barton."

Clint saluted and settled back against the seat, arms crossed behind his head, grin smug. "You're welcome."

"You must be feeling better." Phil pulled back out onto the road and up the on ramp.

"Nausea's all gone."

~~*~~

From then on, they made better time as the traffic thinned and Clint kept up a constant stream of consciousness chatter that kept Phil both awake and amused. Clint's snarky sense of humor was never better than when he was expounding on the absurdities of working for SHIELD. Though they both had dedicated their lives to the agency, neither was blind to the inconsistencies and sometimes ridiculous hypocrisy displayed by the World Security Council.

Even though it was after eleven at night, the traffic on Highway 90 was still painfully heavy and slow, ultimately forcing them to stop completely just before their exit. Phil groaned and Clint shifted.

"Give me your phone, babe," Clint demanded.

"What?" Phil wasn't paying too much attention to anything but the traffic jam, which had to be caused by an accident.

Clint tapped him on the shoulder. "Hand me your phone. So I can call your mom. Tell her not to wait on us. We'll meet her at the church."

"I…" Phil turned to stare at Clint. "I didn't expect you--"

"Of course you didn't. But it's a tradition. And important to your mom. I'm not going to disappoint Mrs. Elizabeth Coulson. Not on your life."

Phil didn't really care whether they went to midnight mass or not. He'd never been particularly religious, but his mother's Episcopal church was one of the better ones he'd experienced and it _did_ mean a lot to her. "Thanks," he said, handing the phone back before he swerved to take advantage of a gap and changed lanes toward their exit.

He spent the next twenty minutes using every last driving skill he'd ever learned to get them off I-90 and across the river. When he was safely moving along River Street at a reasonable pace, he glanced up at the rear view mirror. "What'd she say?"

Clint gave Phil a crooked smile. "She said it didn't matter if we were late. We were family and she was going to ride with her _sons._ "

Clint's eyes were suspiciously bright, matching the lump in Phil's throat. "She isn't wrong, Clint."

"I… yeah. It's just…" He ducked his head and Phil swore he heard a quiet sniff, but he couldn't swear that he wasn't hearing things and he definitely wasn't going to call attention to the emotion.

"I told you," Phil said, eyes forward as they turned onto his mom's street.

"I know. Just kind of hard to believe."

Phil waited until he'd pulled into the driveway to turn around. "I love you. You're my friend, my lover, my partner. And that makes you family."

Clint shook his head. "I've been a lot of things, babe, been a lot of places, not sure I've ever really had a home until I found you."

"Phillip!" Phil's mom called from the front porch. "Clinton!" she said as she opened the back door.

"Mom!" Phil yelped in surprise.

She wrapped her arms around Clint's shoulders, then kissed the top of his head. "So good to meet you." She quickly closed his door and opened the front, settling in before Phil could argue. "Drive, Phillip. We can still make it on time."

"But--" Clint and Phil both protested.

"No ifs, ands, or buts. I don't care what you're wearing and neither does the Lord." She clicked her seat belt leaving Phil no option but to start the car and drive. "If you think I'm going to sit through another mass listening to Mary O'Reilly go on and on about her son without actually having you there, you don't know me very well."

"Mom, you know--"

Phil didn't have to turn to see the expression on his mom's face. Her huff was borderline incensed. "I knew what I could and could not say before you were born, Phillip. So do not lecture me." She turned to look at Clint. "Besides, it's so much more fun to tell them that my sons are out there saving the world than it is to blab anything about where you work. Please."

"I'm sorry," Phil apologized to Clint's chuckle from the backseat and his murmured 'see where Phil got it'.

~~*~~

After mass, Phil's mom had insisted that they join her in spiked eggnog and a 'snack'. Of course her snack was more like a meal and the nog was more bourbon than not, but Clint had been too eager for Phil to argue despite exhaustion turning the world a little gray at the edges. And seeing Clint laughing, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed, made Phil glad he'd agreed, even if the laughter was at his expense. He should have known his mother would have old yearbooks and photo albums primed and ready for maximum Phil embarrassment.

Hours later, or it might have been less than that, Phil zoned out at one point and lost track of time, Clint was herding Phil into his mom's room. Phil tried to protest, words groggy and disoriented.

"I _tried_ , babe," Clint said. "Repeatedly." He pushed on Phil's shoulder and Phil went down, bouncing once on his mom's very firm mattress.

"But--"

"You argue with her."

Phil struggled to sit up, but gave up and flopped back down when Clint pressed a tip from one of his crutches against Phil's sternum. "Tomorrow." Clint's voice was firm and the bed was enticing as Phil's muscles seemed to meld with the duvet. "She's already upstairs settled into the guest room." Clint pushed the door shut with the other crutch, then stopped in the middle of the moderately sized bedroom and gazed down at Phil with a crooked smile.

"Whu?" Phil slurred.

"You should have skipped the nog."

"Woulda been rude."

Clint snorted. "Whatever you say, babe. Stay there. I'll be back."

"But--"

Clint stopped at the door of the en suite and gave Phil a raised eyebrow. "Right now you're in no shape to take care of yourself, let alone _me._ I got this." He pushed the door open before turning back, a smile on his face. "Your mom's pretty great. She made me feel at home," he said, voice gone quiet before the door shut behind him.

Phil gazed at the ceiling for a couple of blinks, then the world went dark.

~~*~~

He awoke feeling content and warm. The blinds were pulled tight so he had no idea what time it was, but instinct and the pleasant lethargy along his spine told him he'd slept deeply for a long while. He turned over in bed to be greeted by Clint's sleepy-eyed grin. "Mornin', boss," he said and Phil had to kiss him.

"What was that for?"

"Do I need a reason to kiss my gorgeous lover on Christmas?"

Clint blushed beautifully and Phil had to kiss him again. And again for good measure.

When Phil stretched, he noticed that he was still mostly clothed, missing only shoes and belt.

Clint noticed what he was looking at and shrugged. "I did the best I could. You were dead weight and I don't get around so good."

"It's not that. I'm impressed you got me turned around and _under_ the covers without waking me."

"It wasn't easy, but you were dead to the world. Glad I had the undoctored nog or we'd have ended up sleeping on the floor."

Phil stood and stripped down to his boxer briefs and undershirt and was rewarded with a wolf whistle from Clint. Pointing at him, he ordered, "Stay right there." Then sauntered off to the bathroom to take care of business, especially brushing the fur off his teeth.

He clambered back into bed, careful of the pillows propping Clint's leg. "Do you need a pain pill?"

"Nah, I'm good. Something about sleeping in a real bed. Slept better than I have in weeks."

Phil propped his chin on his hands to stare at Clint, marveling that this utterly amazing man was his.

"Stop that," Clint protested, turning his face away.

"Don't, babe. Please," Phil asked, tone gently pleading. "I love looking at you."

"I'm gross right now. Could really use an hour-long shower."

"I think you look amazing. You're here, in my mom's house, in my mom's bed and not one word of complaint even though you have every reason to." Phil tried to explain what he was feeling, how full his heart was at that moment, but the right words wouldn't come. "It's very brave of you to take all this on when you're still healing."

Clint shook his head. "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"I--"

"No, you listen to me, Phillip J. Coulson, there's nowhere I'd rather be. Your mom is amazing. Hell, she gave up her bed because of me! Where else would I be?"

"Nat--"

"Lying on a beach with Natasha is kind of impossible with the leg," Clint huffed. He reached up and tugged Phil close, forcing Phil to settle carefully, blanketing Clint's torso, legs sideways. "There. That's better."

"Am I your blanket now?"

"Yeah, my idiot blanket who still doesn't get that I want to be here. With _him._ " Clint nipped Phil's chin. "He's a foolish blanket. Think it's because his head is stuffed with fluff."

"I think I've been insulted."

"At least I didn't call you a chubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff," Clint gave Phil a mischievous wink, then kissed him. When Phil tried to pull back for a rebuttal, Clint wrapped his arms around Phil's neck and held him in place. Phil gave in with a soft sigh, opening and kissing with enthusiasm and affection. He explored Clint's mouth languidly, deepening the kiss, ramping up the restrained arousal that bloomed from a low-grade fever pulsing under his skin to full-tilt hunger, Clint's responsive moans only adding fuel to the fire.

"Enough of that, boys," Phil's mom said as she came into the room carrying a tray.

Phil scrambled off Clint and nearly face planted on the floor as Clint threw the covers over his head. "Mom! Don't you knock?"

"I did," she said. "You were obviously too busy to notice." She tried to sound put out, but she was grinning and it ruined the whole effect. "And, Clint dear, no need to hide. How will you eat breakfast like that?"

Clint peeked out from under the covers and he was blushing. Phil almost said "Aww" aloud.

"Mrs. Coulson, I-I I'm not dressed!" he protested.

"As if you have anything I've never seen before," she sniffed.

"Mom, we'll come to the table," Phil offered.

Setting the tray on the bedside table, she put her hands on her hips. "Nonsense. It's nearly noon, I'm busy in the kitchen. You two eat here and stay out of my hair."

"But--" Phil tried.

"Don't argue, Phillip."

"But, ma'am, we should help--"

Phil's mom grinned at Clint and leaned over to drop a kiss on his forehead. "Aren't you just the sweetest thing?" She turned her gaze to Phil. "You better keep this one."

Turning back to Clint, she tapped him on the nose. "I love to cook, Clinton. I don't get to often enough. So, no thank you, but I appreciate the offer. It's Christmas, hon, let me enjoy spoiling my boys," she said.

"Um, okay?"

"There you go." She waved Phil over to take the tray from the table and lower the legs before setting it across Clint's lap. "Help Clinton sit up, dear."

"Thanks, mom," Phil said, kissing her cheek. The words weren't enough, but he was having a hard time speaking around the lump in his throat.

She pressed a cool palm to Phil's face. "It really is my pleasure, sweetie. Now, eat! Before it gets cold." She shooed Phil forward before turning and leaving.

Phil took the covers off the plates and both groaned as the aroma of bacon and yeasty baked goods made their mouths water. "Damn!" Clint swore. Phil's mother never did Christmas breakfast by halves. The plates were groaning with cinnamon rolls, cranberry bread, Irish Christmas cake and a pile of crispy bacon.

"Merry Christmas, Clint," Phil said as he took a sip of black coffee and sighed happily.

"Merry Christmas, babe," Clint said around a mouth full of cranberry bread.

"You're supposed to eat dessert last."

"Where's the fun in that?" Clint smirked. "It's _Christmas_ , Phil."

"Really? I never would have known," Phil snarked, but his eyes crinkled. 

After breakfast and an awkward attempt at a bath for Clint, Phil's mom insisted on a traditional day, from opening presents to caroling to a feast which included a few singles in the neighborhood that would be alone otherwise. Once the large meal was done and Phil had done all the dishes -- he won that battle at least -- he sprawled on the sofa, arms full of a sleepy, sated Clint who had gotten comfortable enough to cuddle unreservedly.

"This was the best Christmas I've ever had, babe," Clint murmured against neck, his words drowsy and warm.

"For me, too," Phil said, arms tightening to hold Clint right where he was. He kissed the top of Clint's head and was rewarded with two sighs; one from Clint as his limbs relaxed and another from the doorway to the kitchen. Phil looked up and met his mom's eyes. They were a bit bright as she mouthed, "Merry Christmas, Phillip."

"Merry Christmas, mom," he mouthed back. Closing his eyes he had to agree with Clint. _'Best Christmas ever.'_

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** Title from _Home_ by Edward Sharpe  & The Magnetic Zeros.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** These are Marvel and Disney's characters used in the spirit of creative commons. I promise to return them with smiles on.


End file.
